I longed
for an ideal and perfect happiness, a fair illusion that cannot last
for very long. At last I spoke, feeling that the last hours of my
frenzy were at hand.
"'Hear me, madame. I love you, and you know it; I have said so a
hundred times; you must have understood me. I would not take upon me
the airs of a coxcomb, nor would I flatter you, nor urge myself upon
you like a fool; I would not owe your love to such arts as these! so I
have been misunderstood. What sufferings have I not endured for your
sake! For these, however, you were not to blame; but in a few minutes
you shall decide for yourself. There are two kinds of poverty, madame.
One kind openly walks the street in rags, an unconscious imitator of
Diogenes, on a scanty diet, reducing life to its simplest terms; he is
happier, maybe, than the rich; he has fewer cares at any rate, and
accepts such portions of the world as stronger spirits refuse. Then
there is poverty in splendor, a Spanish pauper, concealing the life of
a beggar by his title, his bravery, and his pride; poverty that wears
a white waistcoat and yellow kid gloves, a beggar with a carriage,
whose whole career will be wrecked for lack of a halfpenny. Poverty of
the first kind belongs to the populace; the second kind is that of
blacklegs, of kings, and of men of talent.
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